


Ende Gut, Alles Gut

by SaphireCorona



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Call of Duty - Freeform, Call of Duty: Black Ops III, Der Eisendrache, F/M, Love, Random - Freeform, Swearing, Zombies, black ops, primis, what else could you possibly need
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-09-18 16:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16998897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaphireCorona/pseuds/SaphireCorona
Summary: Maggie meets Dempsey and the crew after they rescue her from the experimental clutches of Group 935. Neither of them anticipates bonding during the apocalypse but stranger things have happened.





	1. Ich bin dein Krieg

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo!  
> I've had a thing for Dempsey for years now and after playing Blood of the Dead nonstop, I have not been able to shake this need to write a little something for him because I CANNOT FIND ANY DEMPSEY/OC STORIES. He's beautiful and brash and I love him so here we go.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to learn German so it's fun to have 'ol Eddie in the story for some Deutsche practice ;) 
> 
> This is just for fun so I probably won't have a super long story, maybe ten chapters or so but we shall see.
> 
> **6/7/19 note-- I went through and edited the first chapter to make it better. Nothing important changed, it just doesn't sound like shit anymore. That being said, I'm halfway through the next chapter!

Yelling, I slammed my fists against the chilled iron pipes of my cell in a panic. Sirens were blaring. People were running, trying to collect as much of their research--their evidence--as they could as they scrambled throughout the facility. Though I had little hope that any of these psychotic bastards would let me out, I had to try.

One of them halted near my cell, his uniform disheveled as if people had been grabbing at him while he was on the move. “Hey!” I shouted at the young soldier. He was one of the men I recognized, even though they all looked the same; short black hair, impassive and drawn-out face, and a slim build that used guns rather than muscle to defend itself. I knew he was one of the men who carried the keys, however, and, at the moment, was probably my last best hope. “Let me out of here!” His eyes wild, he stared back at me as he caught his breath. I didn’t know much German, only what I had picked up on while I had been locked up. “ _Hilf mir_!” I hissed my plea with a foreign tongue.

Amidst the screaming and blaring of the horns, he gave a frantic glance in either direction as he decided if my life was still worthwhile after enduring months of torture. Nearly falling against the concrete, he sacrificed a few fleeting moments of his time to offer me a chance for freedom. Once I escaped, I had no idea where I was going to go but it beat staying trapped behind bars.

“ _Los! Los!_ ” I ushered his shaking hands as he fumbled through a ring of seemingly infinite keys that he pulled out of his pocket. My heart attempted--more than once--to escape my chest as I watched him try to find the right fit for the lock on my cell.

Then, echoing off the walls in the distant hallway, a growl slowly turned into a shriek. The dark-haired man and I both turned our attention to the clumsy yet quick footsteps gaining speed towards us.

“ _Nein_!” the keys were flung off to the distance, well out of my reach, when he held up his arms to defend himself as a rabid body collided with his and shoved him to the ground. I jumped back, all the color and blood and oxygen leaving my body as what looked like a colleague of his, ripped out his throat with its bare teeth. His cry was cut short and warm crimson spilled from his open wounds and began to leak into my apparent safe haven. There was no stopping the scream that parted my lips as I stumbled backward until my legs gave out and I fell to the floor.

With the former Nazi dead at its feet, the flesh-eating monster snapped its head up at me and let out another shuddering growl, blood and flesh dripping from its teeth. I clapped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming again. I wanted to close my eyes and pray that I was having a nightmare but, I knew that, somehow, I had simply found myself in another circle of hell.

Fittingly, a demonic glow emanated from where its eyes should have been as it ferociously forced its arms through the barricade, reaching for me with degraded limbs and bony fingers. Unable to reach me, it snarled and threw its body against the wall with sickening force. As I stared at the eviscerated remains of the man, I was happy to be stuck in the cell for the first time in who knows how long.

A loud bang followed by shouting and gunfire drew the monster’s attention, and it sprinted off towards the noise. Following its footsteps, a few more of the same creatures ran past on twisted legs, screaming various incoherent sounds. The distant barrage of bullets and yells of battle were drowned out by the deafening sound of growls and snarls and shuffling feet. The only thing I could feel was dread and hopelessness because deep down I knew, I was going to die here.

 

* * *

 

  
With the knife I managed to steal from the body of the dead man who still lingered and deteriorated in front of my cell, I scratched another tick mark into the wall to keep track of the days. I was on day four...I think. Though, honestly, it was hard for me to tell because it was always dark. All I could rely on was the passage of time which swayed between feeling like a few hours and an eternity. The power had gone out about a day or so after everyone was dead. Being downstairs, further from the warmth of the sun, didn’t help either. My eyes had adjusted well enough to discern silhouettes of boxes and machinery but I had come to loathe how acute my hearing had become. I heard every creak, groan and whisper of death that stalked my cell, and each sound made me shudder and feel ill.

Not expecting to even be alive still, I was starving and beginning to run low on the bottle of water that I had been able to reach from my cell. Aside from that, all I had were the thin, grimy clothes on my back and the gun that I had taken from the Nazi corpse. The gun only had one bullet, so it was more of an option for a dignified death as opposed to a useful defense.

Thankfully, most of the creatures had wandered off to the brighter parts of the castle and, if I stayed quiet, only one or two of them would drag their feet in front of my cell throughout the day without noticing that they had left a living soul unmaimed. I had hoped that someone would have come to investigate the sudden abandonment of a German research facility, but the world outside had submitted to silence ever since I witnessed a man get eaten alive. Before, I had been able to hear the occasional car on the streets below or a plane buzzing by up above, but now there was nothing. Nothing but death and my own heartbeat.

Maybe there wasn’t anyone left.

 

* * *

 

  
Sometime later, I woke up to the distant and muffled sound of people--living, breathing, men--shouting, and bullets spraying from loud, destructive guns. My dying spark of hope flickered into a small flame, and I bolted up on my cot, my protective layer of cold dampened blankets sliding away from me. Holding my breath, I listened carefully as there had been a handful of occasions as of late where I had woken up to my mind creating illusions of sounds meant to trick me into thinking I was saved. The commotion continued still and I stumbled to my feet. The ground was cold to the touch and I was shivering both from a lack of dependable heat and sustainable food.

Wishing I could see for myself, I gripped the bars of the cell to keep my hope from sprouting as I heard the rustling of heavy feet making their way to silence the noise upstairs.

“This place...disaster….tofen….” Someone was shouting--rather angrily--over the gunfire. He sounded American but from where I was, it was impossible to know for certain. A second voice replied but it was as clear as a waterlogged mumbled. I waited until it was quiet again, knowing that there’d be a snowball’s chance in hell of them hearing me if I started shouting for help now. “You said…..out…” The man’s tone was still stern but more conversational now that the danger seemed to subside, along with their defensive barrage of bullets. Had they really been able to kill them that easily?

Afraid they would wander too far to hear me, I took a deep breath to ensure my cry for help would be heard. There was a thick floor of stone between the upstairs and the downstairs cell that I had been trapped in. My throat was dry and sore from the few drops of water I allowed myself every day, and the thought of shouting sounded excruciating, but I had to try.

“Help!” I began to cough as soon as I tried to raise my voice. “Please, help me!” I tried again with better results. For extra measure, I rushed back to my cot to grab the gun so I could beat it against the steel pipes.

“You hear that?” The first voice asked to whoever was with him.

“Hear what?” His counterpart didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m downstairs!” My voice cracked and I realized my cries were probably incomprehensible. “Please!”

“That!” The American could hear me, at least.

Then, like an answered prayer from a merciless god, the footsteps began to make their way toward me and the thought of seeing the sun again almost made tears spring to my eyes.

From what I could tell, it sounded like two pairs of boots coming down the stairs and all I could do was hope that they weren’t with the people who had thrown me in here in the first place.

A blinding beam from a flashlight forced me to close my eyes and I had to peer down at my feet until they adjusted to the foreign brightness. If I didn't feel like a caged, forgotten animal before, I did now.

“What the hell?” When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at two men with guns in their hands and blood glistening on their skin. The one that sounded like an American, who held the flashlight, displayed some sort of horror at what he'd found.

Surely, I was an eyesore. My brunette hair was a mess, my clothes, which hadn't been changed in at least a few weeks, stuck to my bony frame, my skin was blemished with dirt, blood, and bruises, and my appearance felt as drained and worn out as my bloodshot eyes. At this point, I looked more dead than alive.

“Please,” I whispered, too weary to think of anything else, “please, help me.”

Resolute on helping me, he set the light on a crudely stacked tower of boxes behind them. “Get back,” he instructed, letting the strap over his shoulder take the weight of his rifle so he could pull out his handgun. I did as I was told, my arms wrapped around my chest to keep me warm, though the effort seemed wasted. I jumped when he pulled the trigger and shot the lock on my cell door. “Doc, get me a blanket or something,” he didn't look at the dark-haired man as his eyes were trained on me once he pushed the gate open.  
“Come on out, you're alright.” He waved a gloved hand towards himself, trying to coax me out with a soft voice as if I was a lost dog he had found in the rain.

Though I had longed for freedom, I suddenly didn’t want to step foot outside of the ten by ten-foot cell I had memorized every inch of. I had come to learn that any form of noise held the same weight as ringing the dinner bell and a gunshot may have well have been that last thing I was about to hear before they came for me.  
  
Then, the ‘Doc’ returned with a mound of fabric in his hands from somewhere in the dim room and handed it to the man in the leather jacket. His eyes glanced at me but didn’t linger which I was grateful for. He had piercing eyes and a sharp nose that reminded me of the uniformed men that had mocked me and ignored my suffering for months.

Unsure on my feet, I kept my head on a swivel and stumbled towards them. As soon as I was in arm’s reach, the American wrapped the blanket around my bony shoulders and the heat from his body felt like being touched by the sun.

“Thank you,” I breathed in a raspy voice, “thank you.” I gripped the corners of the soft material and pulled it against my frail body.

Ungracefully, he patted my back and it nearly knocked me over, but I feigned a smile of appreciation that he ignored. Then he turned to his partner, his body tensed and his voice a low growl that could have been mistaken for the sound of the dead that haunted this place. “What the fuck kinda operation you running here, Doc?! Why you got a woman here?!”

While I flinched at the man’s scathing accusation, his counterpart appeared unphased, as if he was used to the occasional snap in temper. “ _Bitte_ , none of this is _mein_ doing.” He pointed to himself in pretentious innocence. “It was most likely Dr. Groph. He had _ein_ …obsession with American _Frauen_.”

I picked up, all too quickly, on his German articulations and a spike of anger flooded my body like fever and forced me to speak up, albeit it was a weak announcement. “You work with Groph?” Dr. Groph was the reason I was here to begin with. “You one of them?” The last thing I wanted was to fall back into the hands of the men who tortured people in the name of science.

He shook his head, “ _Nein_. Mein name is Dr. Edward Richtofen _und_ I assure you, I mean you no harm.” His accent was thick and his long face conveyed little emotion.

My narrowed side glance showed I was unconvinced of his impeccability. But, last time I checked, Americans and Germans weren’t on the same side of the fight, so if they were working together, maybe he was telling the truth.

The man who had yet to introduce himself called for my attention once more, “What's your name, sweetheart?” He yielded more comfort when he wasn’t yelling through a gravelly bark of irritation.

It took me a moment to recall. “Margaret... Maggie's fine, though.” I stared at him, perplexed. He looked oddly familiar but maybe I was losing my mind; what was left of it anyway. “You...I know you. I've seen you before.” I tried to procure the image of his name. I'd seen it so many times, painted onto the metal of a capsule. “Dempsey, you're Dempsey...but you're…” It looked like him, I was certain of that, but the man in front of me was decades younger. And that...simply wasn’t possible. “Oh, God, I’m hallucinating. This isn’t real, you’re not really here.” I knew it was all too good to be true. I’d been exposed to that scientific element for too long. I was already starting to forget things, and now I had been locked up for so long, I was seeing things.

“Hey, uh, Maggie,” he kept his voice on a quieter volume as he ponderously spoke my name, “calm down, alright? Listen, I am Dempsey. You ain’t going crazy, we’re here.” His gloved hands clutched my shoulders to keep me from collapsing, and his touch kept me grounded to reality. I nodded, shaken and panicked, my eyes flickering between him and his counterpart. “How long you been here, darling?”

His gruff voice drew my eyes to his face and I took note of his handsome features. He looked like he was made for the military with his broad shoulders, defined jawline, and a mouth that rarely smiled. In the dim light, I could see the dirt and blood that painted his skin, deepening his five o’clock shadow, and I wondered where he had been before this.

It was a struggle for me to focus and the words stumbled and fell out of my mouth, “I don’t...I don’t know...but it’s been six days...I think...since those things killed everyone.” I looked into his hardened blue eyes. “What are they?”

“ _Untoten_ ,” the German answered, though it meant nothing to me as it wasn’t a part of my small foreign vocabulary. Given my apathetic reaction, he clarified, “The undead. You Americans,” he nodded to the man and I, “call them zombies.”

On the verge of hysteria, I began to laugh as I tried not to hyperventilate. I’d seen the black and white movies of people crawling out of their graves and lumbering after the living, but the things that I had seen were from the depths of hell.

“What? Are you--please tell me he’s kidding,” my voice raised an octave and Dempsey raised a brow, pursing his lips in sympathetic confirmation. “Oh,” I gave a deliberate nod, “well isn't that just peachy.” Now, I wished I was hallucinating.

“That's one way to put it,” Dempsey muttered, more annoyed than disturbed.

“Forgive me, Margaret, but you mentioned you've seen Dempsey before. I need to know where _und_ when this happened.” The man whose name I’d already forgotten spoke so formally that it made my unrehearsed replies sound uncouth and barbaric.

“I don’t...I can’t remember.” I gave a weak shrug, the social contact making me tired. A tapered breath left his nose and he tried to speak once more but the Marine stopped him.

“Stow it, Richtofen!” The American was quick to cut him short. “We can deal with that tomorrow. She ain't in no shape to be helping you or anyone else.” His familiar accent was one that I hadn't heard in a long time and it was oddly comforting to listen to him yell at the German.

“ _Ja_ , of course, _mein_ apologies,” he seemed to have more on his mind but quietly did as he was told with a hint of distaste that could be heard when he walked off, muttering to himself.  
I stared after him, still agitated by his sheer presence. “Don't worry about him. He rubs everyone the wrong way.” Dempsey put a hand on my back and I looked up at him. He smiled, barely, but it was there and it was enough. “Come on, let's get you outta here. This place gives me the fucking creeps.”

 

* * *

 

 

The room he led me to was crowded with havoc and wooden furniture carved with bullet holes. There were a few plush animals watching me from the bookshelves and the light, floral colors led me to believe that the room used to belong to a small girl. I tried not to think about what might have happened to the child or why she was even here in the first place.

Regardless, there was a bed, an actual bed, with dry blankets and a mattress, sitting in front of me and that was enough to put a smile on my weary face.

“Hope this works, not much to choose from.” Dempsey stood behind me, his hand hovering over the door handle.

I turned towards him and cradled my protruding ribcage with enervated arms. “No, this is great, I appreciate it.” my voice cracked, despite my best efforts.

His eyes appraised me from head to toe with a quick once over. “Well, I'll let you get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning and get this shit figured out.” He had every intention of leaving but I stopped him, blinded by my own fear.

“Wait!” I stood straight, ready to chase after him if need be. He stopped and turned around, an expectant yet annoyed look on his sculpted face. “Look, I know you don't know me and I know it's stupid of me to ask but,” I bit down on my lip, wincing ever so slightly, “I just...I can't sleep knowing those things could bust through the door and rip my guts out.” He stood, unmoving, at the door, his shoulders rigid beneath his bloodstained leather jacket.

“Spit it out, darling,” he was doing his best not to be snippy.

“Could you...would you mind staying?” His still expression made me nervous and my voice faltered, my fingers scratching anxiously into my skin, “Just, just for tonight.”

He screwed up his face as if I’d ask him to do something so unspeakable that he’d be sent to the deepest circle of hell for doing it. There was absolutely nothing between, us beside the fact that we were from the same country, and that was really the only semblance of a bond that I’d had with anyone for some time. It was the only connection that allowed me to be brave enough to even ask.

“What do you want me to do? Read you a bedtime story?” He hooked his thumb under the strap running across his chest that held his gear. I didn’t know what half of the things he was carrying were but he appeared to have enough firepower to stop a tank.

I scowled; briefly, “No, smartass,” my snap in politeness faltered and his lip twitched in diversion, “I was thinking more along the lines of shooting anything that tries to get in.”

He met my clouded expression and ground his teeth as he thought. He could just say no and leave it at that. He didn't have to stand there and act like I was torturing him.

Just as I was about to tell him to forget it, he let out an exhausted, burdened sigh and unhooked the strap from his jacket and tossed it onto the stale, bloodied couch. “Just tonight. Tomorrow, I'm gonna teach you how to shoot a fucking gun so I don't have to babysit you.”

I ignored his passive aggressive comment. All that mattered was that I'd have a decent chance of not dying while I tried to get some sleep. “You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch.” It was the least I could do for somewhat ruining his evening.

As if he didn't hear me, or was simply ignoring me, he continued to unpack his gear next to the couch. The sound of metal and fabric dropping to the floor went on for much longer than I expected. “Better I don't get too comfortable,” he unzipped his jacket and peeled it off. I couldn't help but watch as he hissed the air through his teeth and revealed the cuts and bruises along his bare arms. There were probably more beneath his thick gray tee and I wanted to ask what the hell he had been through before he found me. “Can’t kill the monsters in the closet if I'm out like a fucking light.” Shucking his boots, he playfully smirked in my direction. Was he teasing me?

I forced down the heat that crept up my cheeks. “Fine, well,  
don't say I didn't offer.” I had to tear my gaze away so that I could crawl into the bed and pull a blanket over me. A cloud of dust and debris lingered in the air when I rested my head on the pillow and I coughed into the blanket, a groan following shortly after from the pain in my chest.

When he sighed, I hesitantly removed the blanket from my face to look at him as he stretched out on the couch, his arms folded behind his head. Aside from his loud, foul mouth and typical American militaristic personality, he was handsome; better looking than most. He was built with a tall frame, maybe just over six feet, that was strong and defined, with a face that had been sculpted by hard work and a few bar fights. He kept his short brown hair meticulously in place and parted at the side, and his blue eyes reminded me of a sky that I hadn’t seen in months.

Catching me in the midst of my dissolute observations, a muffled, condescending laugh of sorts drifted from his direction as he settled into his bed for the night and I shook my head to free my mind of whatever opinions I was forming of him. They didn't matter. Soon, I hoped, we'd be parting ways and I'd be back home, living my life again.

Still, I broke the silence, “Dempsey?”

“What?” his voice was like sandpaper over the lone word and I had to steel my nerves against his ire to continue.

“Thanks,” I kept my conversation short and sweet. That seemed to be his thing.

When he spoke again, he was gentler, “Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart, let me get you outta this mess first.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_**Also, on a completely unrelated note, if anyone would ever like to play zombies with me on PlayStation, my username is Artemisia312 and I'm always down to shoot zombies in the face. My profile pic a dragon from game of thrones. You can't miss it.** _


	2. Es gibt für alles ein erstes Mal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the worn out trope of two people flirting during a shooting lesson. 
> 
>  
> 
> *Translation of Chapter Title : There's a first time for everything *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, if it isn't me. I fucking DID IT. After I DON'T FUCKING KNOW HOW LONG, I FINISHED THIS FUCKING CHAPTER.
> 
> I'm pleased with it. Not over the top happy, but pleased, and that will suffice. 
> 
> It's still a bit of an intro chapter so to speak. There will be more zombitches in the next chapter and things will start to pick up a bit more (and hopefully that won't take me as long???) 
> 
> Also, I feel like I was working through a REALLY BAD writer's block and I'm finally digging myself out of it so PLEASE FORGIVE ME if this is awful, it was a struggle but I truly am looking forward to writing the rest of this because you can do so much with the nonsense that is zombies haha 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and have a lovely day. Thanks for reading y'all!

I woke up in a pallid fetal position with the blankets pushed to the side as if they had been suffocating me as I slept. My clothes clung to my body from the cold sweat that I had broken into and my heart was wracking against my ribcage, trying to save itself from the nightmare in my head. It seemed that death consumed what was left of my mind and it was all I could see when I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander.

Lifting my head from the stiff mattress, my charcoal hair fell over my eyes and fogged the view of the oil lamp that was still burning furiously on the table across the room. I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep. There were no windows to tell the time of day but it was something I'd grown used to.

Looking for protection against my bloodied dreams of hands and teeth, my eyes whirled around to the couch. It was empty. Dirt had been comfortably fixed into the fabric where his boots had rested, but it was the only evidence that he existed. Still, I had to wonder if I was still working through a lucid hallucination that would end with me back in a cell, surrounded by the dead.

What saved me from myself was the mismatched, but wholly welcomed, pile of clothes that had been precipitously dropped on the nightstand beside the bed. I propped myself up on an elbow so I could reach out and get a closer look. They could have been mistaken for a child's clothes because they were so small, but I had to remind myself that my own clothes were hanging from my malnourished frame.

There was a dusky, long-sleeved shirt that was thin enough to be used as insulation beneath the thick snow-blue sweater. The pants were surely too long for my legs but I could roll up the dark denim and tuck the remnants into the pair of boots that had been tossed on the floor.

At first, I was unsure if Dempsey had left them but I didn't know who else would've. Certainly not the doctor. What was his name? Edgar? Richards? I shook my head at the holes that had formed in my once flawless memory. Whatever his name was, he didn't strike me as the type to go out of his way for a mere stranger.

Stiff from resting upon something that wasn’t a sheet on a steel cot, a grunt escaped my mouth when I pushed myself into a sitting position, my back rounded ever so slightly to ease my discomfort. My eyes were sore and still felt bloodshot, even though I had just slept for the longest time in weeks. The pang of hunger returned, as well as the blinding headache that felt like a hole was being drilled between my eyes, and I struggled to stand up. Part of me wished that I had died along with everyone else because at least I would have found some semblance of peace. But, as weary and apprehensive as I felt, I told myself that whatever lies ahead of me today, couldn’t be worse than what I had been through.

Right?

 

* * *

 

  
Though it took me far longer than it should have to get dressed, I finally took the dreaded, shaky steps outside the bedroom. The room that lingered between my door and the outside had been torn apart by frantic hands in search of supplies and sanctuary. So many papers were strewn on the floor that I could scarcely see the hardwood and carpet beneath them. Books were missing from the shelves, chairs were stacked against another door, and I had to be careful not to step on glass from the broken windows as I made my way to the minute snowdrift collecting along the base of the opened door.

When I ventured outside, I squinted at the blinding reflection of the sun against the snow. My eyes were beginning to miss the perpetual darkness, but I hoped they would acclimate by the day’s end. Outside, it was quiet. The silence didn’t hold the same eerie weight I had grown used to. In fact, the reticence was rather comforting, like the babbling of a creek in an abandoned forest, or the wind cutting through an open, sunbleached field.

Vulnerable and fainthearted, I continued walking along the edge of the balcony, my hand on the railing as I looked for a sign of movement. When I stepped onto the long bridge that connected the two castles, I saw the glow of a fire down below, tucked into a modest safe haven created by the buildings. Beside it sat Richtofen, strangely at ease and unbothered by his bloodstained surroundings. As far as I could tell, he was the only one down there; dead or alive. Taking a deep breath of bracing wintered air, I proceeded on across the bridge, making my way for the staircase so I could join him.

My legs were thoroughly exhausted by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs and I had to use the stone railing to keep myself upright. The German man was clad in a white shirt and faded vest that was held together with copper-colored leather straps. His blood-spattered clothes looked too frail for the cold weather that had encased my personal hell. I wagered that I was wearing heavier clothes than he was, and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. He was, however, sitting beside a roaring fire as he flipped through a weathered book, so perhaps that was keeping him warm enough.

When my boots timidly crunched against the snow as I debated on approaching him or not, he looked up. I stared blankly at him, reflecting the expression he gave me. “Ah, _Guten_ _Morgen_ , Margaret. Did you sleep well?” Though his tone was airy and conspicuously friendly, he did not smile.

I wrapped my arms around myself to try and keep from shivering. “Comparatively, yes,” I answered warily. He either did not notice or was simply not bothered by my standoffish behavior towards him, as he continued on with the conversation without delay.

“ _Ja, Sehr gut_.” he nodded and gestured to the wooden box beside him with a flattened palm. “I suggest you eat. We have a laborious day ahead of us.” I looked over both my shoulders then to the ornate dragon head statue that stood guard above the open door that led to the downstairs. I wondered where Dempsey was, wishing I had someone else to act as a buffer between myself and the German.

He cleared his throat at my lingering and I took a deep breath and accepted his offer. He had yet to say or do anything wrong to me and he was offering me food, which was more kindness than I had received from his German counterparts.

Nimbly, I sat down, reaching my hands out towards the fire to convince my blood to return feeling to my limbs. “Doing what?” I asked, my voice cracking from disuse. What could he possibly want me to do? I couldn’t remember anything and I couldn’t protect myself from whatever those things were. I would just be a burden.

“Shooting shit, that’s what.” Dempsey’s roughened voice came from behind and I jumped in my seat. I turned around to find my able-bodied, pseudo protector coming up from the staircase. In addition to the pistol strapped to his thigh, he had a larger rifle in his hand, propped against his shoulder. He had cleaned the blood and dirt from his face, but his boots showcased the carnage he had waded through before finding me. He had popped the collar of his leather jacket up to keep the snow from hitting the back of his neck, though it already began to gather atop his chestnut hair.

He looked at me, his gunmetal blue eyes lingering on my flushed face before flickering his gaze to Richtofen and scowling for a brief moment. “Looks like you made it through the night,” he commented with a smirk.

I forced myself to look at him. “Yeah, thanks,” I bit down on the tip of my tongue to mask my nervousness. At least I could look at the doctor without my cheeks setting themselves on fire.

“You can thank me by learning to shoot,” he replied gruffly. I was beginning to regret asking him to guard my room all night because now he just seemed irritated by my presence. “Get something to eat, then let’s go.”

I opened my mouth to try and ask for a moment of reprieve to get my head on straight, as the past twenty-four hours had left me lost in my own thoughts, but was interrupted by a foreign voice that had me pinching my brows in bewilderment. How many of them were there?

“Dempsey, what am I? Pack mule?” A gruff, stocky man with a long goatee of a beard and a thick mustache lumbered up from the stairwell after Dempsey. Atop his head was a flight helmet that matched the bulky armor he wore. He carried a weighted bag of supplies over his shoulder and his labored breathing filled the cold, crisp air with heated clouds. His accent was much more distinct and less articulated than the German’s. Dempsey scoffed at his complaining and continued on his way to where Richtofen and I had been sitting around the fire, stopping beside me but scarcely acknowledging me as he slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder so he could pull out a cigarette and lighter out of his coat pocket.

As soon as the man I’d yet to meet saw me staring, I rashly turned my attention to the flames and watched them scorch the broken pieces of wood. “Who is this!?” The newcomer asked with imported enthusiasm when he saw my huddled frame trying to disappear from sight.

Sighing, Richtofen answered. “Margaret, meet our dear friend, Nikolai,” he spoke with sarcasm as he introduced us. “Nik--”

Dropping the bag of supplies at his feet, he cut him off and pushed Dempsey out of the way to hold out his hand to me. The American barked an obscenity at the man when his cigarette fell to the ground from the collision. “Nikolai Belinski, at your service.” The young, bear of a man, who I assumed was from Russia, greeted me with a broad, jovial smile. Cautiously, I met his hand and he pulled it forward to place a kiss against my fingers.

“Nice to...meet you.” I stammered. I didn’t know whether to laugh, blush, smile, or yank my hand away.

“Ah, another American!” he dropped my hand with his declaration. Then he chuckled, “For record, I already like you better than Dempsey.” he nudged me in the arm with his elbow and I breathed a stiff laugh of amusement. Despite the circumstances, he seemed rather...cheery and it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

I could hear my fellow American roll his eyes as he pulled out another cigarette to replace the one he’d lost, “Yeah, well, fuck you too, Nik.”

Finally, the German spoke again to steer everyone back on track, “I believe we have tasks that are of higher priority, Dempsey, _und_ Margaret here is _ein_ valuable resource.” He closed his book and tossed it in the fire to keep it going. I couldn’t understand how the three of them were so aloof about everything. Death itself was consuming the living and tearing everything apart with trails of blood in its wake, and they acted as if nothing had changed. Maybe they were as crazy as I felt.

The gun rustled against his jacket when shrugged. “It can fucking wait. I’m not going anywhere.” Dempsey brushed his concerns away like the snow that had gathered on his shoulder. The doctor glowered at him but decided to keep his lips sealed for the time being. Trapped in the midst of the three of them, I fidgeted on my box of a seat. They all shared a tense comradery, and I felt out of place every time they conversed.

Abruptly and sharply, Dempsey asked me again, “You coming?” At this rate, his unstable demeanor was going to give me whiplash.

“I…” I wanted to say yes, just to appease him and maybe start off on a better foot with him today, but the fact that I still hadn’t eaten gnawed at me, and I wasn’t sure how great of a student I’d be if my head was aching and my arms were shaking.

Luckily, the doctor, of all people, was looking out for me. “Let her eat, Dempsey. She is clearly malnourished _und_ she’ll require some form of nutrition if she is to be in your company.” He threw in a jab at the man in my defense.

Then, the Russian joined in. “ _Da_ , Dempsey, look at her!” he pointed to me as if I had been out of everyone’s line of sight. “So skinny, no meat on her bones!” he rattled said bones when he gave me a pat on the back. “Let _malyshka_ eat!” Mortified by their outpour of concern, I glanced up at the American for silent permission to stay and eat some food.

Begrudgingly, he turned to leave, calling out to me over his shoulder as his heavy boots trampled through the snow like a war-torn tank. “I’ll be in the courtyard.”

“Excuse his behavior, Margaret. He is _ein_ uncivilized brute." Richtofen scoffed at the stringency of his counterpart and urged me to stay seated with a welcoming plate of food and a tin cup of dark liquid that smelled like coffee. " _Bitte_ , sit. _Essen_." I took it from him, the tips of my fingers bitten by the cold. I would need to find some gloves eventually. Maybe today after I finished with Dempsey.

Settled in beside me on a box of his own, Nikolai drank down the coffee without any regard for the steam billowing from it and went for the cracker textured bread next. “More stale bread and shit coffee,” he complained, wiping the crumbs that had fallen in his beard. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I nibbled slowly at my share. The food was bland, but after days of starvation, dry bread may as well have been a delicacy. “I grow so very tired of it.” The Russian grumbled, his criticism sounding much harsher than it was in his native tongue.

The doctor sighed with apathy, “ _Ja_ , Nikolai, _Ich_ _kenne_. You remind me every day.” As if in solidarity, he poured out what was left in his cup into the snow beside him before setting it down.

“You have been here before, have you not? Does evil German lab not have food?” I watched Nikolai’s expressive hand motions cut through the air as he spoke to Richtofen. The two men on either side of me continued to argue, but I chose to ignore it, letting their words become background noise, along with the crackling of the fire. Instead, I looked behind me to see Dempsey in the near distance, toying with the rifle in his hand, occasionally peering down the scope before dialing it in.

The longer I stared at him, the more questions I had. The older version of the man I had seen locked away in a capsule had the same bleary lines on his stately face. I still had yet to come up with anything resembling a theory as to why there were two of him. The best I could come up with was that I was entrapped in some distorted dream that distracted me from a deliberate death. I wanted to talk to him, but something about him intimidated me to a point of laconism.

Maybe it was the way he walked-like he had an itching to punch you in the jaw. It could be because he never smiled and had no laugh lines to show for it. If anything, the pitch of his voice had discouraged me once or twice. It was like standing in the wrong place when a gun was shot off, or like being drug over scorched pavement while resting on a bed of silk.

I took a sip of coffee, smirking at myself as I pondered my apprehension towards the man I’d met. Maybe it was because he was so good looking.

 

* * *

 

  
_Field report:_  
_Made it to Griffin Castle. Place was a disaster like the others, but we found a girl. Group 935 had her here, doing experiments on her before shit went South. Says she saw the other “me”. Not sure if she's crazy or telling the truth, but she seems to have her head on straight. Find out more today. Hopefully, something will go right for once._

When I walked into the courtyard to meet him, he was sitting on the edge of a staircase, pen and notebook in hand. He had hung his rifle on a metal rod that grew like a tree out of the rubble beside him. “Hey, sorry for the wait.”

He looked up and snapped the journal shut as if he feared I had seen whatever it was he had been writing, even though I stood a few feet away. With my hands tucked into my back pockets, I offered a friendly smile that he recognized but didn’t return.

He shoved the notebook in the small pack strapped to his upper thigh and stood to his feet. “Did you get something to eat?” he asked impatiently.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “and, uh, thanks for the...clothes,” I shrugged in the oversized sweater and scuffed my boots into the snow until I found the gravel surface below. As much as I could tell he didn’t want my gratitude, it didn’t feel right to ignore his generosity.

As expected, he snubbed my appreciation. “Don’t need you getting frostbite.” As if to change the subject, he pulled the handgun from its holster. “You ready?” he walked up to me and flipped the gun in his hand so that the grip was pointing towards me.

“Mmhm,” lying through tight lips, I took it from him and gave a curt nod.

He took my lack of discourse for incompetence. “You ever shot a gun before?” he stepped to the side but stayed close enough to block the arctic chill of the wind.

I shook my head and fumbled with the weapon. As I ran my thumb over the smooth ridges in the metal, I tried to appreciate the fact that the gun in my hand served a far better purpose than the one I had been holding onto in my cell. “Not that I remember, no.”

I wished I could remember more than my marksman experience. I couldn’t remember my home, my family, or much about the life I once enjoyed. I could scarcely recall what Groph’s men had done to me. At night, my dreams reminded me of how I screamed and the way my chest tightened with fear to the point of suffocation. Each night I drowned in a cold, empty sea of thought, and I no longer attempted to discern the truth from my nightmares.

Unaware of how long I had let the silence grow, I shook my head free of the fog that had begun to settle and spoke up, “But you pull the trigger and kill the things, right?” I did my best to lighten the mood and get a laugh out of him.

His pale blue eyes studied my despondent state for a moment, but then he chuckled, the gentle touch of a smirk teasing his lips. “Well, the shooting part ain’t that hard. It’s the aiming that’ll get ya,” he added in agreement, his rigid posture relaxing as he spoke.

"Right, of course," I commented coolly. Both concepts sounded as simple as rocket science to me, but I feigned confidence for my pride’s sake.

"Here, start with this, it's light. It won't stop shit, but it's good for practicing." he gestured to the gun he had given me. “Now hold it with both hands,” he instructed.

Clueless to what he wanted me to do, I gripped it with my fingers interlaced beneath the trigger, as if I was trying to pry a door handle off. He shook his head, amused at the very least, and I frowned at my attempt. “No, like this, darling.”

With no hesitation, his leather gloves reached for me and unraveled my hands. He put one on the bottom of the grip and forced my fingers to curl around the other hand that wrapped around the remainder of the handle. “There. Okay, line up this dot here,” he lifted my arm up until the sights were in line with my eye, “with these two when you aim.”

“‘Kay.” All I could do was nod.

“Now here’s the fun part. Aim at that bag over there and pull that trigger like you fucking mean it.” The enthusiasm he harbored for gunplay became evident as he went on. At least I knew how to put him in a better mood now. “And don’t close your eyes. Got it?” he looked down at me and waited for me to comply with his one rule.

“I think so. But what if they hear?”

“Who?” he looked at me as if I had lost my mind, what was left of it anyway.

“Those...things.” I didn’t want to call them zombies. It made them seem unreal or imaginary, and as much as I wished that was the case, they were very real and very deadly.

“That’ll make shit interesting, won’t it?” his joke was dry and made me cough rather than laugh. “Don’t worry, those flesh sore fuckers aren’t gonna ruin our good time.” he placated me and my concerns the best he could, despite his evident, vulgar repleted sarcasm. His small smile made up for his obscenities, though. “Now, are we talking or shooting? Come on,” after giving me a pat on my back, he crossed his arms over his chest in observation as he stood behind me and looked over my shoulder.

“You’re very pushy, you know.” I looked back at him with narrowed eyes and a snarky tone.

He winked. I blushed. “Shoot,” he nodded, looking forward to direct my attention back to the target in front of us. With a surrendering respire, I lifted my arms and tried to settle my stance into something tactically comfortable but spent more time shuffling my feet than aiming. Without a sigh or scoff, he came to my aid.

Startled, I jumped when he moved behind me. The toe of his boot tapped against my right heel to nudge my foot forward, and his arms moved around mine to keep them from shaking as I aimed. For good measure, he went so far as to make sure my hands were still in the right spots.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, my cheeks melting every flake of snow that fell on them. Having him so close made me even more nervous, and I hoped my hair-trigger heartbeat couldn’t be heard. Given my current mental state, all of this was unfamiliar to me and I couldn’t shake the flustered feeling of an adolescent schoolgirl getting asked to formal by the boy of her fleeting dreams.

We both stood there in silence as the seconds ticked by. Neither of us moved, but the heat from his body was warm enough to stop my shivering. “You got it?” Gracelessly, he cleared his throat as if he suddenly realized the circumstance he had put us in.

“Yep,” I struggled to get so much as a sound out of my mouth. Giving me the go-ahead, he pulled himself away from me, and I silently reviewed the simplistic instructions he gave me.

Aim. Pull the trigger. Keep my eyes open.

The burlap bag lacked a target so I aimed for the dead center in hopes that by the time I emptied the clip, I would have at least one shot hit my mark. With one last breath, I pulled down on the trigger. The recoil barely jostled my stance, and I tried again, rhythmically squeezing the trigger until a hollow clicking noise and smoking barrel were all that was left. I let my arms fall to take a look at the damage I had inflicted and smiled pleasantly at the focused barrage of bullet holes I had created in the center of the bag.

I turned to face him for an evaluation of my attempt. "Not fucking bad," he laced his words through a drawl of unspoken pride. "You sure you never done this before?" he eyed me as if I had something to hide. Again, I shrugged. Sure, it was possible that I’d shot a gun but any such memories were lost to me. "Do you remember how you got here?" he asked, his voice softer now.

I pondered his question but returned with little information. "No. I remember coming over here to get pictures. Or maybe interview someone?” I couldn’t remember why I had left the safety of the States, but I offered my best guess. When his expression furrowed with puzzlement, I clarified a piece of my life with one of the few details I did remember. “I worked for a newspaper,” I added quickly before continuing. “I don’t remember much after getting off the plane.” Had they taken me from the airport? Off the streets in the middle of the night? Or in plain sight when I stopped for coffee? I shook my head in disdain for how distorted my once spotless mind had become.

His eyes found mine and they conveyed a sense of sympathy. “Sorry this happened to you. All the shit these German fucks did ain’t right.” The sharp line of his jaw tightened and it was clear he had a bone to pick with the group of scientists as well.

“It could be worse, I guess.” When he held his hand out for the gun, I gave it to him and watched him empty the used clip so he could put a fresh round of bullets in.

He snorted a laugh my optimism, “Worse than this shit? What the hell could be worse?” He held the gun up, aimed it at the bag, and unloaded the clip into it in a matter of seconds. The commotion seemed to relax him, and he winked at me again when I pursed my lips, impressed.

Bit of a show-off, he was. Bit of a flirt, too.

I rubbed my chilled hand against my neck to make sure my pulse had settled down before I let the blush return to my cheeks. Then, I sighed and folded my arms over my chest. “I could be stuck in that cell still. And honestly, I’d rather deal with the dead than the living after what they did.”

“What did--” Before the rest of his question could be heard, the enthused voice of the Russian hindered him.

Creating a canyon out of the few inches that separated us, Nikolai came between Dempsey and me, a rifle of his own in his gloved hands. I heard Dempsey grunt in annoyance at the intrusion, and Nikolai ignored whatever matching glare and scowl the American gave him.

“Such tiny American needs big weapon to kill hell-pigs with, _da_?” Before I could even try to reply, he put a larger, much heavier weapon in my hands, and the unexpected weight of it took the breath out of me. He laughed and grabbed my shoulder to keep me upright as he spoke to me, “This will do job. It is beautiful and Russian made; like Nikolai.” His broad smile accented his thick, foreign lilt, and I breathed a laugh through my nose. Dempsey rolled his eyes with another dissatisfied grunt.

“Nik, she can hardly shoot a pistol. She doesn’t need a damn rifle,” he argued, pushing his way back to me as if to protect me from the Russian’s fanatical ideas.

Nikolai shushed him with a soft voice, “Come now, Dempsey, let her decide which is better.” His hand still on my shoulder, he looked to me to see whose side I would take. I bit down on my lip and looked to my fellow American. He threw his arms up in the air and shook his head to tell me he didn’t care what I did, as long as it kept Nikolai from annoying him any further.

"I'll give it a try," meekly, I accepted his offer. At this point, I didn’t want to offend any of them. They were the only thing standing between living another day and getting torn apart by teeth.

"Good taste! Not only is she pretty, she is smart, too, eh?" Nikolai laughed, prodding Dempsey in the ribs. Though faint, I thought I heard something of a growl emanate from his chest in reply. When he spoke again, he spoke exclusively to his comrade. “Too smart for you, Dempsey.”

Unsure of what to say, I adjusted the weight of the gun in my hand and thanked him for the compliment. His flattery didn’t necessarily make me uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly expected. After all, I knew the bruises on my face and the bones prodding out from under my skin weren’t easy on the eyes.

" _Kanechna_ , give it try and tell me it is not better than tiny gun that Dempsey loves." he encouraged. I stared down at the rifle, which was longer than my arm. It had a heavy scope, a perforated barrel, and looked like a war machine to me. I knew enough to know that I couldn’t hold it the way I did the handgun. That being said, I didn’t even know where to hold it in a way that would let me shoot it.

Seeing his window of opportunity, Dempsey put a hand on the metal armor that Nikolai wore and pushed him back a couple of steps. Back at my side, he guided me through the confusing terrain. “Here, you wanna put this right here against your shoulder.” he gently nudged the stock against my shoulder and led my hand to the grip. “You can put your other hand here if you want.” he gestured to the smaller foregrip. “It’s gonna kick like a motherfucker so just don’t drop it.” Oh well, that was promising. I stared at him with wide eyes, afraid of losing a limb at this point. He just laughed and patted me on the back. “Let’s see what you got, sweetheart.”

Flustered but resolute in proving myself to this group of strangers, I followed the same routine as last time: looked down the scope, pulled the trigger, and kept my eyes open. Though I managed another well-aimed shot, the recoil surely bruised my shoulder down to the bone. My lips parted in restrained, aching pain and I winced as I waited for my arm to stop vibrating in and out of numbness.

Nikolai was colored impressed. “Look, Dempsey! She is natural!” Wanting to take credit for my accomplishment, he tried to rid me of my teacher. “Move aside, I will give her proper training.”

“Nik,” he stood his ground like an unmovable stone, his arms crossed and his boots planted firmly in place.

"You are not only soldier here. I, too, have valuable lessons to give," he argued civilly but almost desperately. Whether or not it was for me, all the attention from everyone was beginning to exhaust me.

"No one wants to see your valuable lessons.” he shooed him away like a stray animal in search of food and attention and Nikolai’s shoulders dropped with disappointment. “Why don't you go find Tak, make sure he didn't lose his way in this shit hole?" His suggestion sounded more like an order.

"Typical capitalist arrogance," Nikolai gave in, though rather reluctantly, muttering an insult as he went opposite the way he came, down another set of stairs and vanishing into yet another building.

Once he was out of earshot, I spoke, “A Russian, a German, and an American? Sounds like a bad joke.” I commented with a chuckle as I rubbed my shoulder.

“Trust me, it is,” even conversationally, the pitch of his voice could never seem to dig itself out of the deep trench it had settled into. “We got a samurai, too. Takeo. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point.”

“How did you all meet?” I had so many questions at this point that I couldn’t remember half of them, but he seemed to be the best man to give me the answers.

“It’s a long fucking story, darling,” he sighed, his hand reaching behind his neck to rub out a tensed muscle at the thought. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from asking for just a sliver of the details but I knew it’d be wiser to not push my luck. I didn’t want to irritate him, not when he just started to warm up to me. The disappointment on my face was evident, however, and he couldn’t miss it. "I'll tell it to you, just not now,” he promised.

“Yeah, okay, later,” I agreed. I didn’t know when ‘later’ would be, but I hoped it meant a few days from now and not a few weeks. In a few weeks, I hoped to be back home (wherever that was) but deep down I knew, I might not even have a home anymore. Less than willing to linger on the dispiriting idea of the world I used to know being dead and gone, I digressed. “Got more stuff we can shoot?” I smiled encouragingly.

“Hell yeah,” finally, at long last, he genuinely smiled, but more than that, he grinned. “Let me show you how a real soldier has some fucking fun.” he took the rifle from me and I laughed at how a hardened man such as himself could suddenly look like a kid in a candy store. “Maybe we’ll find some explosives later and I’ll show you a good time.” his husky voice became dangerously close to being suggestive and stunted my heart as a result. For having just met him, he knew how to leave an impression. At least it took my mind off the fact that I couldn’t remember anything but my first name.

“Dempsey!” Bordering on the line of shrill, Richtofen’s voice called out to us both as he walked under the stone archway. “You can continue tormenting dear Margaret with your ludicrous, manly violence later.”

“What now, Richtofen?” Dempsey growled, turning away from me with a fist balled with annoyance.

Richtofen stopped a few feet away from us. “I believe we have found what we came here for.” he remained impassive in the face of Dempsey’s unspoken threat. The man’s lips curled into a snarl of dreaded reluctance and I looked between the two of them for an answer, though I had a sinking feeling that I already knew what he had discovered. “The other you.”

 

* * *

 

 

He's just nice looking, ya know? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Maggie meet Dempsey 1.0 and watch him die?? Who knows! I sure as hell don't because I haven't gotten that fucking far! (I mean, yeah, eventually he will because that's how it's gotta be)
> 
> I know Nik is supposed to be a deeply troubled Russian headed towards the land of vodka but I like to think that he'd be a little over the top friendly in the presence of a lady (and let's be honest, when was the last time any of these men saw a woman??) and I don't want Nik to be depressed so accept my version of Nikolai Belinksi! 
> 
> Again, sorry if this wasn't my best work but I'm starting to work myself out of my slump so hopefully my writing improves some more. Dempsey will be acting more Dempsey-ish in the following chapters as we head into zombie territory (think ridiculous, aggressive threats and innuendoes. The shit that made us all love Dempsey in the first place) 
> 
> And finally, I am always looking for people to play Zombies with on PS4 so hit me up if you are also looking for people! (Artemisia312 )

**Author's Note:**

> Not great but none of my first chapters are ever great.
> 
> But.....That's all for now. Thanks for checking it out!
> 
>  
> 
> Auf Wiedersehen!


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